Pragmatic Resistance, Law, and Social Movements in Authoritarian States: The Case of Gay Collective Action in Singapore

Pragmatic Resistance, Law, and Social Movementsin Authoritarian States: The Case of Gay CollectiveAction in Singapore

Lynette J. Chua

This article draws from a qualitative study of Singapore’s gay movement toanalyze how gay organizing occurs in authoritarian states, and where and howlaw matters. Singapore’s gay activists engage in “strategic adaptation” todeploy a strategy of pragmatic resistance that involves an interplay amonglegal restrictions and cultural norms. Balancing the movement’s survival withits advancement, they shun direct confrontation, and avoid being seen as athreat to the existing political order. As legal restrictions and as a source oflegitimacy, law correspondingly oppresses sexual conduct and civil-politicalliberties, and culturally delegitimizes dissent. However, when activists mountpragmatic resistance at and through law, it also matters as a source of contes-tation. Further, law matters as a trade-off between reifying the existing orderin exchange for survival and immediate gains. Yet, by treating law as purelytactical, these activists arguably end up de-centering law, being pragmaticallyunconcerned with whether they are ideologically challenging or beingco-opted by it.

How does collective mobilization over gay issues occur in soci-eties where civil-political rights are less available and lack culturalresonance compared to Western liberal democracies? Where andhow does law matter? Law and society scholarship has focused onthe role of rights in relation to social movements (see, e.g., Ander-sen 2005; McCann 1994; Rosenberg 2008), but lacks systematicexploration of the relationship between law and social movementsin contexts outside Western liberal democracies. Particularly inrepressive regimes where civil-political rights are curtailed, vio-lated, or lack cultural resonance (Massoud 2011), social movementsmay not be able to mobilize rights the way their counterparts in

Funding was provided by the Social Science Research Council, National Science Foun-dation (SES-0962129), University of California, Berkeley, and National University of Sin-gapore. I wish to thank Kristin Luker, Catherine Albiston, Calvin Morrill, Kim Voss, MarkMassoud, Indulekshimi Rajeswari, the editors and anonymous reviewers, and the audi-ences at the Law and Society Association, Chinese University of Hong Kong, University ofMelbourne, Australian National University, and National University of Singapore, whereearlier versions of this article were presented. Most of all, I am grateful to the studyrespondents. Please direct all correspondence to Lynette J. Chua, Faculty of Law, NationalUniversity of Singapore, 469G Bukit Timah Road, Eu Tong Sen Building, Singapore259776; e-mail: [email protected].

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Law & Society Review, Volume 46, Number 4 (2012)© 2012 Law and Society Association. All rights reserved.

Western liberal democracies can and do. Hence, collective mobili-zation may develop in alternative forms (Davenport 2005), but mayelude scholars’ conventional focus on rights-based strategies.

My in-depth, qualitative study of the gay movement in Sin-gapore offers a nuanced analysis of the social processes of collectivemobilization in such a society. To ensure their movement’s survivalas well as its progress, gay activists in Singapore adapt a strategy ofpragmatic resistance. The result is a strategic dance (McCammonet al. 2008) that involves interplay among legal restrictions andcultural norms. Activists adjust their tactics according to changes informal law and cultural norms, and push the limits of those normswhile simultaneously adhering to them. Although they aspiretoward legal reform, they refrain from tactics that directly confrontthe state, such as street protests, and avoid being seen as a threat toexisting formal arrangements of power.

My study builds on the scholarship on gay mobilization innon-democratic societies, transnational movements and humanrights discourses, the social control of protest, and legal resistance.The social processes of Singapore’s gay movement demonstratehow an authoritarian state prominently influences movementstrategy and tactics. Such dominance does not stem from rulers’opposition to homosexuality as a moral problem per se, however.Rather, it concerns the maintenance of existing power, which feelsinsecure when faced with grassroots organization and demands(Boudreau 2005), so much so that the state and ruling party will-ingly sacrifice some degree of international legitimacy in order tomaintain domestic hegemony.

In its formal or rule-bound character, law appears as restric-tions on homosexual conduct and expression, and curtailments ofcivil-political rights. It also appears in a cultural form as a legiti-mizing source. Obedience to formal law earns cultural legitimacy,whereas disobedience loses it. Law, therefore, matters in multipleways. First, it is a source of oppression. Legal restrictions prohibitcertain sexual conduct, as well as dissent and mobilization. Becauseits oppression does not occur through physical violence, but asdiscipline (Foucault 1977) and channeling (Earl 2006), it is lessdetectable, sometimes even accepted as normal or legitimate.Nonetheless, law also matters as a source of contestation. Besidesresisting the laws and regulations that criminalize and censor same-sex conduct, through pragmatic resistance, gay activists also contestthe legal restrictions that suppress mobilization. Consequently, inexchange for ensuring their movement’s survival and making gainswithout direct confrontation or threatening existing powerarrangements, they accept law’s discipline and control, and thusreify the existing order. Yet, look more closely, and perhaps lawsimply matters to them as a pragmatic concern, and not an ideo-

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logical preoccupation. True to the pragmatism of their strategy,they are not concerned with challenging law for its sake, but treatthe choices between legality and illegality as merely tactical (Lukács1920). Law’s power ironically becomes neutered, as legality is rel-egated to being no more than a means to an end.

First, I examine Singapore’s socio-political background, and itsshifts and changes over time. Next, I consider existing studies onmobilization in non-democratic societies, particularly gay move-ments, transnational movements and human rights discourse, thesocial control of protest, and legal resistance, before elaboratingon the theoretical framework of strategic adaptation in the formof pragmatic resistance. I then explain the data collection andmethods, and provide my data analysis. In the conclusion, Iexamine where and how matters to the movement.

Background on Singapore

Singapore is an island nation of approximately 214 squaremiles in Southeast Asia. In 1963, after gaining independence fromthe British, it joined the Federation of Malaysia to form a newsovereign nation of formerly British controlled territories, andinherited the English common law tradition and a Westminsterconstitution. Soon after, the People’s Action Party (PAP), in powerin Singapore, became embroiled in political strife with the UnitedMalays National Organization (UMNO) controlling the federal gov-ernment. The Malay-dominated UMNO regarded the Chinese-dominated PAP as a threat to the continuation of Malay politicaldominance in the Federation. UMNO allegedly incited Malays toattack ethnic Chinese in Singapore, and riots broke out in 1964between the two races (Leifer 1964). Racialized political tensionsled to Singapore’s expulsion from the Federation in 1965 (Hill andLian 1995), leaving the PAP to fend for an island nation without apeninsular hinterland (Lee 1998).

Constantly reminding Singaporeans of their nation’s tumultu-ous conception, the PAP touts social stability as paramount to eco-nomic survival, and thus national security, and deploys law tosecure them. Within five decades, economic legal reform (Silver-stein 2003) transformed the island into a nation with the world’ssixth highest Gross Domestic Product (CIA 2010), one of the freesteconomies (The Heritage Foundation 2011), and one of the busiestseaports. At the same time, the PAP also aggressively imposes legalrestrictions to curb civil-political liberties provided by the Consti-tution. Such curtailments are aimed at achieving social and politicalcontrol, thus aiding its successful return to power at every legallymandated election. Though desiring political monopoly, the PAP

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ironically seeks legitimacy from law, and places its return to poweron being legally reelected by the populace. Hence, it uses law tocurtail civil-political liberties intended to protect a “rule of law,”which the party itself champions.

Against this backdrop, gay activists strive for decriminalization,legal reform, and equality without the extent of civil-political rightsor entrenchment of democratic institutions that their counterpartstake for granted in Western liberal democracies. Instead, they facethe following legal constraints: The forming of associations of 10 ormore persons is illegal without state approval (Societies Act). A gayactivist organization has been denied registration twice. Publicassembly and public speeches, especially about local politics, raceand religion, are licensed subject to administrative discretion andrestrictive conditions, if approved at all, and the police may issueorders to disperse even a single demonstrator (Public Order Act),1whereas the local media are regulated through a licensing systemand state approval of management appointees (Broadcasting Act;Newspaper & Printing Presses Act). Media content is controlledand censored, especially on issues of politics and religion. Contentthat “justifies” or “glamorises” “lifestyles such as homosexuality,lesbianism, bisexualism, transsexualism [and] transvestism” arespecifically banned (see, e.g., Free-to-air Television ProgrammeCode). Section 377A of the Penal Code criminalizes “gross inde-cency” between men, encompassing conduct from displays ofpublic affection to private, consensual sex. Needless to say, same-sex relations receive no legal recognition.

In the rare cases of rights litigation challenging ordinary legis-lation and regulations as being in violation of constitutionally pro-tected liberties, the government has always won, usually on publicinterest or national security grounds. Judicial review is weak; thePAP-dominated Parliament has swiftly passed constitutional andlegislative amendments to overrule a court ruling that it may reviewexecutive decisions on preventive detention (Chng Suan Tze v. Min-ister of Home Affairs 1989).2 As for political access and representation,the PAP has amended election laws to convert most single-memberconstituencies—one vote for one Member of Parliament (MP)—intogroup representation constituencies, where one vote counts towardseveral MPs of the same party, and the winning team is elected enbloc (Mauzy and Milne 2002), thus creating a high threshold for

1 Although permits are also required for protest activities in liberal democracies,approval in Singapore is far more stringent and typically denied for those expressingdisagreement with the PAP government.

2 For the detainees in that case, the government accepted the ruling that the detentionorder was procedurally defective. However, the detainees were rearrested immediatelyupon release, and their subsequent challenge for judicial review failed due to the newconstitutional amendments.


political turnover. In addition, except for the determination ofsovereignty, no provision for popular referendums exists. Further,PAP leaders have sued political opponents for defamation, and wonwith huge damages, resulting in their bankruptcy and consequentdisqualification from holding political office in Parliament.

Nevertheless, Singapore’s socio-political conditions have shiftedover time. As the economy prospered, a better-educated middleclass emerged. They began to question the PAP’s dominance anddemand greater accountability. When still under the leadership ofSingapore’s first Prime Minister, Lee Kuan Yew, in 1981 the PAPbegan to lose parliamentary seats. Although it still commanded aclear majority, it attributed its decline partly to the alienation ofmiddle classes. Once again, the party turned to law, amending theconstitution, and passing new legislation to create spaces for alter-native voices. The government also began to allow a civil society forlimited debate and dissent (Lyons 2004). By the time the secondPrime Minister, Goh Chok Tong, took office in 1990, organizationsworking on social issues began to surface.

Legal restrictions on civil-political liberties further relaxedafter Lee’s son, Lee Hsien Loong, became the third Prime Ministerin 2003. By the late 2000s, public speeches and assemblies inone designated public park, Hong Lim, were exempted fromlicense application (Public Order (Unrestricted Area) Order 2012).Licenses were also no longer required of indoor talks by Singapore-ans (Public Order (Exempt Assemblies & Processions) Order2009).3 As new judges ascended to the Supreme Court in themid-2000s, their judgments appear to be more sensitive aboutbringing Singaporean constitutional jurisprudence more in linewith other common law jurisdictions, though their decisions onconstitutional liberties still have not found for individuals.

Meanwhile, in 1994, the state made the Internet commerciallyavailable to the public as a move to ensure Singaporeans kept upwith technological developments. But it faced a conundrum:opening up the island to the Internet entailed losing control overinformation. So it pragmatically settled on a compromise. As asymbolic stance, it blacklisted and blocked out 100 websites, mainlypornographic ones and those that espoused racial or religioushatred (Keshishoglou and Aquilia 2004). While Internet censorshipstill contains the familiar tones against positive portrayals of homo-sexuality, regulatory enforcement concentrates on content aboutracial or religious hatred, local politics, and child pornography.The laxer Internet controls, consequently, have become key to themobilization of not only gay activism, but also political activism

3 But they must avoid topics the police deem may fan racial or religious enmity.

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that culminated with a momentous victory—by Singaporeanstandards—in the 2011 elections when the opposition won anunprecedented number of six Parliamentary seats (out of 87).

Although oppressive laws and regulations remain on thebooks, since the 1990s, the state’s position on homosexuality hasshifted from condemnation to one of balancing of interests, openlyacknowledging gay people, but qualifying that their interestscannot trump the majority whom it believes still opposes homo-sexuality. Hence, while retaining Section 377A of the Penal Code,PAP leaders have publicly stated that the government would notactively enforce it in consensual, private situations. For the past twodecades, state-controlled media have also shifted from portrayinggays as sexual predators to quoting gay activists in their reports.

Where civil-political rights are concerned, however, the Sin-gaporean state remains reluctant to change at the pace of interna-tional human rights discourse or under the ostensible pressure oftransnational advocacy. The state and ruling party do covet inter-national legitimacy, but they do not pursue it at what they perceivemay be the expense of social stability and economic progress. To thePAP, economic progress represents its report card at the electoratepolls, on which it relies for legal legitimacy from the domesticpopulace, and economic growth hinges on social stability. Both thePAP and the state see greater democracy and civil-political rights astrade-offs for these goods. Hence, they boldly defend actions thatinternational rights activists accuse of rights violations. Look nofurther than the retention of Section 377A. PAP leaders are sym-pathetic to the problem, and may recognize that it costs Singaporesome international legitimacy. Yet, the need to retain domestichegemony prevails, and hence the compromising position thatthe provision would be retained to reflect their perception ofmajority’s values, but not enforced in private, consensual cases.

Yet, this does not mean that the Singaporean state never bowsto grassroots or international pressure. It is how pressure isapplied, and how demands are made that are most significant. Thegay movement itself, as we see below, has managed to achievechange. The key lies with understanding the cultural norms thatshape and are shaped by the state, PAP rulers, and social actors, andknowing how to interact with those norms to navigate the land-scape of formal restrictions.

Pragmatic Resistance as Strategic Adaptation

To develop my argument of pragmatic resistance as the move-ment’s form of strategic adaptation, I first consider scholarship oncollective action under repressive conditions, especially gay move-


ments, transnational movements and human rights discourse, thesocial control of protest, and legal resistance.

The Long Shadow of the Repressive State

In contrast to social contexts where rights amount to a collectivemaster frame (Snow and Benford 1992), rights are often sup-pressed (see, e.g., Currier 2009; Massoud 2011) or withheld fromcertain groups of people, and even lack resonance in Singaporeand other repressive contexts. Activists mobilizing under such con-ditions, thus, avoid strategies and tactics common under liberaldemocratic conditions, such as marches, and open and structuredassociation (Johnston 2005). These are the public, overt, and large-scale actions usually emphasized by social movements scholars tothe neglect of more subtle forms of mobilization (Davenport 2005).

My study of Singapore’s gay movement represents the lattercase, and joins the argument that scholars should pay attention tohow mobilization develops in alternative forms (Johnston 2005;McAdam 1996; O’Brien and Li 2006). Overall, studies on collectiveaction in repressive settings illuminate the long shadow of therepressive state cast over social movements. Compared to moredemocratic and rights-friendly environments (Schock 1999), thestate plays a more pronounced role in influencing movement strat-egy and tactics, a phenomenon that also appears in Western liberaldemocracies where and when particular minority groups, such asblacks or gays, are oppressed (see, e.g., Barkan 1984; D’Emilio1998; McAdam 1999).

Domineering state presence has several implications for gayorganizing. First, the waxing and waning of these movements cor-respond with the liberalization or the tightening of regimes orrepressive conditions (see, e.g., Blackwood 2007; Brown 1999;Drucker 2000; Gevisser 1995; Graff 2006; Nemtsev 2008; Palmberg1999). Second, the emergence of or increase in gay organizing,however, does not simply occur when socio-political conditions shiftfavorably. Nor is the opposite necessarily true. It also depends onactors’ responses to those changes (Brockett 1995; Kurzman 1996;Loveman 1998)—how they make sense of those conditions, andtake action (McAdam 1996, 1999). Sometimes, when the stateresponds to mobilization with repression, activists may becomemore motivated, or leverage on the repression to win sympathy andsupporters (see, e.g., Goddard 2004; Gruszczynska 2009; Palmberg1999).

Third, the state’s long shadow strongly influences movementstrategies and tactics (Boudreau 2009; Schock 1999). To ensuresurvival, activists often avoid antagonizing the authoritarian state(O’Brien and Li 2006; Spires 2011; Su and He 2010). For gay

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organizing, mobilization strategies that fit within a society’s eman-cipation experiences, or receive recognition by authorities as validand just (Adam et al. 1999a) are more likely to succeed (see, e.g.,Gruszczynska 2009; Hildebrandt 2012; Long 1999; Spires 2011;Thayer 1997). Of course, this is often the case with liberal democ-racies as well; for instance, because rights normalize and main-stream an issue (Gamson 1989) for Americans, rights mobilizationtends to enjoy resonance in the United States. However, it is withinthe context of repressive regimes that the state’s role in shapingmovement strategies and tactics emerges more clearly.

My study offers insights into these implications. Althoughgradual openings in the broader environment aided the move-ment’s growth, its activists’ innovation stands out through theirconstant adjustment of tactics to changing conditions. My study alsogoes further by teasing out the ingredients that give shape to thestate’s long shadow. Existing studies indicate that national, political,and cultural characteristics are crucial to gay movements aroundthe world (Adam et al. 1999a). But besides pointing out that amovement leverages on politically palatable or resonant values (see,e.g., Gruszczynska 2009; Long 1999; Palmberg 1999), these studiesseldom unpack what makes a repressive state tick. By analyzingactivists’ interpretations of signals in their broader environment, Idetail how legal restrictions and cultural norms factor into theirformulation and implementation of tactics.

Hence, I clarify the motivation behind state repression on gaycollective action: the Singaporean state does not oppose homosexu-ality and gay organizing simply on morality grounds. The culturalnorms helping to shape gay activism’s tactics reveal that the stateand ruling party are ultimately most concerned with the ability tomonopolize, and preserve existing arrangements of power. Gaycollective action, or any other type of mobilization, threatens thispower if it is perceived to threaten these interests. Morality con-cerns become a factor primarily when the state worries that themajority of voters still oppose homosexuality, and may withdrawsupport for the PAP.

Mediating Transnational Movements and InternationalHuman Rights

Some studies argue that domestic movements can successfullyportray their grievances as issues of international human rights(Bob 2005, 2009), or use transnational movement networks topressure home governments to ease repression (Keck and Sikkink1998). However, transnational movements and human rights needto be mediated and translated for the local context (Merry 2006),gay activism and rights included (Adam et al. 1999a; Brown 1999;


Currier 2009). Again, the driving force appears to be the repressivestate. Engaging transnational movements, and deploying interna-tional human rights discourse can attract accusations of abandon-ing one’s indigenous culture, and proselytizing Western influences,leading to backlash (see, e.g., Blackwood 2007; Hoad 1999; Massad2007). The situation can be dangerous when the state stigmatizesforeign intervention (Bob 2009) and is provoked into retaliation(Essig 1999).

My study not only shows how human rights are remade intothe vernacular (Merry 2006), but also demonstrates how activistschoose not to do so. The workings of cultural norms and legalrestrictions that shape the state’s long shadow complicate ourunderstanding of transnational movement networks: some repres-sive states are more susceptible to their impact than others (Hilde-brandt 2012; Schock 1999). International legitimacy, thoughcoveted by the Singaporean state, is tempered by the rulers’ coreinterest of preserving domestic hegemony.

Law, the Social Control of Protest, and Resistance

Given the long shadow of the repressive state, what are thetypes of repression it imposes, and what are their consequences?Studies on the social control of protest (Earl 2003; Fernandez 2009)find that the use of laws and legal procedures renders suppressionmore acceptable and legitimate (Barkan 1984; Kirchheimer 1961).Arrests and prosecutions do more than cost time, money and physi-cal discomfort (Barkan 2006; Earl 2005; Feeley 1979; Oberschall1978); they can also discredit a movement, and frighten supportersaway (Barkan 2006; Earl 2005). Further, if dissent is containedthrough regulation or channeling, the repression becomes lessdiscernible (Earl 2006; Fernandez 2009).

My study extends these insights into the cultural power ofrepressive law. Although Singapore’s gay activists have not beenarrested for protest, they are familiar with high-profile prosecu-tions of political opponents who violate the legal restrictions oncivil-political rights, and, as a result, lose cultural legitimacy. Thus,gay activists shun illegal tactics, not only because of formal sanc-tions, but also because legal repression sends the message that suchtactics can cost them cultural legitimacy.

On the brighter side, law and society studies also find that socialactors can mount resistance through repressive law (Merry 1995).Movements often make use of legal forms of repression to raiseawareness (Barkan 1977, 1980, 1985), and win public support (Earl2005; Kirchheimer 1961). Social actors also mount resistance at law,recognizing and exposing law’s hegemonic power using everydayresistance (Scott 1985). Contrasted to open challenges, such resis-

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tance defies power covertly, and avoids openly confronting thestatus quo (Ewick and Silbey 1998; Gilliom 2001; Sarat 1990). Mystudy extends these lessons from law and society by shifting thefocus to collective action outside Western liberal democracies.

Pragmatic Resistance as Strategic Adaptation

Through interplay among law and cultural norms, gay activistsdeploy pragmatic resistance, a strategy adapted to Singapore’srepressive conditions. To explain the social processes of pragmaticresistance, I draw from the four steps of “strategic adaptation”(McCammon et al. 2008) by social movements. Modified to theSingaporean context, strategic adaptation aids the gay movement’sprogress, as well as ensures its survival.

First, activists perceive and read signals from their environ-ment. These signals include shifts in legal restrictions and enforce-ment, and the responses of the state, PAP, and opponents to theirprior tactics. They also include cultural norms that the data belowtease out: non-confrontation, social stability as a foundation foreconomic progress, preservation of the ruling party’s monopoly,and legal legitimacy. Second, they assess whether to adapt theirtactics based on their interpretation of those signals. Third, theydecide to do so, and change their tactics accordingly, and; fourth,they implement those adapted tactics. These four steps arerepeated as the movement develops, generating a “strategic dance”(McCammon et al. 2008), “tactical dance” (McAdam 1983), “darkdance” (Johnston 2006), or, as my study respondents put it, a“tango” or “complicated ballet.”

Because gay activists in Singapore start out with repressiveconditions that limit civil-political liberties, they initially adapt theirstrategy away from tactics that are public, overt and confronta-tional. Then they go through the four-step cycle with each subse-quent tactic, refining and improving their dance. Even though thisdance resists and challenges power, it is a pragmatic one withfeatures that resemble everyday resistance (Scott 1985). It has aneye on survival, and avoids direct confrontation with the state, orbeing seen as a threat to existing arrangements of power. Most ofthe time, these activists focus on immediate gains that change prac-tice and informal policies, but not formal laws and regulations. Onthe rare occasions when they do seek legal reform, they alsoperform pragmatic resistance. The goal is to stay alive and advancewith skirmishes, rather than court demise with open warfaredeclared on grander principles. Hence, whilst they fight the battleto improve conditions for gays in Singapore, they do not wage warfor greater rights and democracy. With each tactical performance,


they vary the dance a little to advance the movement, but do nottransform it into a completely different dance altogether.

Dancing pragmatic resistance, thus, entails striking a balancebetween “pushing boundaries,” and “toeing the line,” terms thatactivists use to describe their tactics. Imagine the two as overlappingforces pulling in opposite directions. The challenge is to stay withinthe area where the two forces overlap. Boundary pushing expandsthe cultural norms to accommodate more challenges of authorityand possibilities of achieving change, whereas line toeing adheresto the limits of those norms to ensure the movement’s survival.Toeing the line too much will achieve little progress, whereaspushing too aggressively on the other end may provoke stateretaliation.

To strike this balance, gay activists execute a dance repertoire ofmoves that weave legal restrictions and cultural norms together.They obey the law so as to play to the norm of legal legitimacy; theyget around legal restrictions to bring their actions beyond the law’sreach, and thus avoid transgression. Or, they deliberately make useof legal restrictions and procedures, a move that plays to legal legiti-macy, and enables them to do what they want within law’s confines.They tend to focus on specific decisions or immediate issues, and thusavoid publicly questioning the larger order, or the repressive lawsthat curtail civil-political liberties. This plays to the norm of non-confrontation, and preservation of the ruling party’s monopoly.But when they do ask for legal reform, they usually downplay con-frontation, and play up other norms, particularly social stability.Adherence to the law is an important move, but it is not the soledeterminant of finding balance. These activists understand thestate to tolerate some rule bending, even contraventions. As awhole, so long as their tactics do not threaten the appearance ofhegemonic control (Scott 1990), the state tolerates them, and recip-rocates by dancing to the socially constructed understandings ofpragmatic resistance as well.

Data Collection and Methods

I undertook a preliminary study in July–August 2006, and theprimary fieldwork during March–December 2009. I conducted 198hours of semi-structured, in-depth interviews with 100 former andcurrent gay activists in Singapore, 140 hours of field observations,and content analyses of movement-related documents spanning 20years.

Using a theoretical, purposive sampling of “gay activists,” Ichose founders, leaders, and active members involved in imple-menting tactics—people associated with the political, social, cultural

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or commercial aspects of the local gay community (see Armstrong2002). The word, “gay,” in “gay activists” refers to the nature of theissues that they address—of interest or concern to gay men, lesbi-ans, and bisexuals4—and the activists themselves need not identifyas gay.

Based on the preliminary study and background research, Icreated three databases: The first identified movement organiza-tions, and their founders and leaders; the second set out the move-ment timeline, and identified key characters. Using these twodatabases, I generated the third that listed potential respondentsfrom whom to sample, and contacted them through informantsfrom the preliminary study, by email, and on Facebook. Later, I alsoasked respondents whom else I should interview. Among the 100respondents, 87 were interviewed face-to-face in Singapore. Theremaining 13 were outside Singapore at the time of my fieldwork,so I conducted those interviews from Singapore through Skype-to-Skype connections (these interviews are indicated by their locationsoutside Singapore).

I enjoyed generous access to the movement and activists. Priorto this study, I was already familiar with Singapore’s culture andlanguages. Until 18 years old, I lived in Malaysia, a country thatneighbors Singapore, and has strong cultural ties to it. I also livedand worked in Singapore for five years as an adult. Besides English,I am fluent in spoken and written Mandarin Chinese, and havesome fluency in Malay; these are three of the four official languagesin Singapore (the fourth being Tamil). I also know Singlish, whichis a local variation of English mixed with Chinese dialects, Malay,and South Asian languages. Even though the interviews were con-ducted in English, being able to use and understand Singlishhelped to establish rapport and trust.

To cross-examine the interview data, I conducted field obser-vations and content analyses. I observed about 140 hours of meet-ings, talks, exhibitions, plays, film screenings, and social gatherings.For content analyses, I sampled, from the early 1990s to 2010,organizations’ documents, media reports, government statements,Parliamentary records, and legislation, regulations and cases. Theyprovide four kinds of data—on landmark events, run-of-the-millmovement activities, government’s views on homosexuality, and thelocal media’s treatment of homosexuality.

I began data analyses concurrently with the fieldwork, usingmultiple phases of coding and memo writing. I wrote a debriefmemo for each interview and observation based on contemporane-

4 I excluded transsexual and transgendered people, who deal with different laws andissues in Singapore. Gay activists also do not address their concerns, or do so more asafterthoughts.


ous field notes. Then I coded by hand each debrief for emergentkey patterns, and systematically kept track of my definitions andapplications of codes to the patterns. During this phase, key cat-egories such as “rights-seen-as-confrontational” and “focus-on-specifics” appeared. They were carried into the second phase ofcoding when I used a software program to code interview tran-scripts, the observation memos, as well as the documentary sources.In addition to analytic categories, I used open coding, payingattention to details and nuances. Simultaneously, I developed theearlier system of code definitions and applications into a codebook,on which I conducted two rounds of coding consistency tests withfour local college students.

Alongside the second phase of coding, I wrote analytic researchmemos to examine the coded data, refine my theoretical frame-work, and integrate the codes with one another more cohesively(Emerson et al. 1995). For example, I subsumed the code, “rights-seen-as-confrontational” under the theme of “rights don’t work,”and used the elements of confrontational to tease out the culturalnorms. Based on codes such as “focus-on-specifics,” I developed“toeing the line” and “pushing boundaries,” and integrated theminto the concept of pragmatic resistance.

Data Analysis

I first demonstrate how gay activists in Singapore perceive andread signals from their environment to interpret cultural normsthat inform pragmatic resistance. Then, using landmark events andrun-of-the-mill activities, I chronologically illustrate how they stra-tegically adapted the tactics of pragmatic resistance over time.

Reading Signals: Norms of Doing Activism in Singapore

Gay activists in Singapore socially construct a set of culturalnorms that set the boundaries and possibilities of advancing theirmovement. They do so by interpreting such signals as governmentstatements, political speeches, the formal restrictions that curtailcivil-political liberties of speech, assembly and association, and thelack of judicial decisions that uphold these liberties. Taken together,these norms point toward a central concern—the preservation ofstatus quo power. If any of the norms conflict with one another, theresolution that best protects PAP monopoly prevails.

I distill their interpretations mainly from their views on rights.Gay activists do aspire toward more rights, especially decriminal-ization of same-sex sexual conduct, and anti-discrimination laws,but their interviews rarely allude to rights litigation as a viable

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tactic, and often lament the lack of rights protection. The dominantpattern that spans across respondents with different organizationalaffiliations, and generations of activists is this: while they generallyhave a high regard for rights, they believe rights to be ineffective inSingapore. To them, the state and PAP associate rights with qualitiesthat are antithetic to the following norms, and react negativelytoward the open exercise of and demand for rights.

Non-confrontation“Non-confrontation” refers to activists’ perception of the state’s

and PAP’s perception of their actions (bearing in mind their con-flation of “government” or “state” with the ruling party). To beconfrontational means to oppose PAP rule, and reflects the PAP’selitist conception of state-society relationship as one between supe-riors and subordinates.

[A] lawsuit sets it up that there is always a winner, and there isalways a loser. And, really, it doesn’t allow a party the grace ofbowing out with dignity intact. (Interview, Harriet, 30s, doctoratestudent, Singapore, October 2009)

Whereas protests can be easily appreciated as confrontational,rights litigation needs a little more subtle understanding, theessence of which is captured by Harriet’s interview. That is, litiga-tion comes across as subordinates’ shaming their superiors inpublic, and telling them what to do.

The most revealing responses, however, come from the minor-ity of activists who do not find rights litigation to be confrontational.Their views are actually confined to one particular issue—the con-stitutionality of the Penal Code’s Section 377A, the provision thatcriminalizes sexual conduct between men. This is because theyinterpret the state and ruling party to have signaled litigation’sacceptability on this point. Following the Repeal 377A campaign in2007 (see below), the legislature compromised by declaring that thestate would not enforce Section 377A in consensual, private situa-tions, but would retain it to reflect its perceived values of main-stream society (lest the PAP loses electoral votes). Then in 2009,when the Indian New Delhi High Court struck down the criminal-ization of private and consensual same-sex sexual conduct asunconstitutional (Naz Foundation v. Govt. of NCT of Delhi 2009),5Singapore’s Law Minister publicly reiterated the non-enforcementpolicy, and went on to say courts had the power to decide on how

5 This decision is now under appeal.


Section 377A should be interpreted and applied.6 These develop-ments lead some activists to interpret the government as havingsignaled its openness to letting the courts determine Section 377A’sfate. In other words, they believe that litigation in this specificscenario would not be seen as confrontational.

Preservation of Social Stability

I think part of the deal for us to become economically viable . . .[w]e gave up freedom of speech, expression and assembly. (Ricky,40s, public relations consultant, Singapore, April 2009)

What Ricky describes is an unspoken bargain that sacrifices civil-political rights with their supposed baggage of confrontation andchaos in exchange for economic progress. The avoidance of con-frontation is presumed to leave intact social stability, which rights-based tactics are believed to undermine by polarizing—rather thanuniting—society along lines such as class, race, religion or ideology.With social stability comes the presumption that Singapore’s eco-nomic engine can run smoothly, without disruption brought aboutby protests and riots that Singaporeans learn from their history,and witness in developing nations.

This is an interpretation borne out by official statements such asthe Prime Minister’s on the retention of Section 377A:

People on both sides hold strong views (about homosexuality) . . .instead of forging a consensus, we will divide and polarise oursociety . . . When it comes to issues like the economy, technology,education . . . when necessary on such issues, we will move even ifthe issue is unpopular or controversial. (Singapore ParliamentaryDebates, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong, 23 October 2007)

Note the statement’s contrasting positions between social and eco-nomic issues. The contrast brings out Ricky’s interpretation in adifferent way. The PAP will not press forward on social issues whenit perceives public opinions to be strongly divided, as it fears desta-bilizing social harmony, and potentially costing the party electoratesupport. On the other hand, if the PAP sees an issue as carryingsignificant economic weight, such as whether to allow casinos—though also linked to social concerns—it will impose a controversialdecision despite divided public opinion. That is because it believeslong-term economic gains will (and should) prevail over immediate

6 Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, from which Singapore’s original Section 377is derived, prohibits “carnal intercourse against the order of nature” regardless of the sexesinvolved. By 2009, Singapore had removed its Section 377, but retained Section 377A,which is a colonial legacy not found in the Indian version (Chua 2003).

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social discontent. These findings, thus, also explain why someactivists link the norm of social stability as being antithetic tocivil-political rights specifically, and not socio-economic rights, suchas healthcare and education, which are seen as more directly ben-eficial to economic progress.

Perpetuation of the Ruling PartyThe statement’s contrasting positions on economic and social

issues further suggest an amoral perception of PAP leadership as notbeing truly concerned with morality; such values weigh significantlyonto its decisions only if its monopoly is perceived to be at stake.Taking us to the norm of perpetuating the ruling party, this percep-tion reveals the PAP’s worry that a polarized population would lesslikely vote consensually and repeatedly for the same party. Again, themost telling responses are the rare ones that believe rights litigationmay not always be confrontational in the eyes of the state. Similar tothe data on non-confrontation, such optimism is confined to therepeal of Section 377A of the Penal Code, and connected to theirinterpretation of the signals considered in that section.

[That] is the only issue that is ready to be heard in courts . . . Ithink the government would like it to be settled in court, not inParliament. For some reason, I feel that they do think there’ssome sort of political liability. To then take it to court, there wouldbe no political liability. (Interview, Parker, 40s, lawyer, Singapore,April 2009)

To people like Parker, PAP leaders worry about losing votes fromconstituents who disagree with decriminalization. If they were torepeal the law legislatively, they would indeed be the decision-makers. Thus, they fear paying the price at the election polls. Thatis the political liability to which Parker refers. However, if the courtswere to decide, and if they were to invalidate the law, the PAP as inthe legislative and executive branches would avoid being heldresponsible for what they perceive to be a controversial decision.Besides, regardless of the ruling, the PAP would be able to point tothe decision as the consequence of having an independent judiciary,which it fiercely defends as a symbol of Singapore’s rule of law.

Coveting Legal Legitimacy

You’re mindful that you don’t break any laws so you do things, goabout things in a lawful way. (Interview, Stella, 40s, massage thera-pist, Singapore, March 2009)

The perpetuation of the ruling party’s power also connects to thenorm of coveting legal legitimacy. This norm operates at two levels.


The first, which Stella stresses, concerns the procurement andconferring of cultural legitimacy through legal abidance; transgres-sions erode good repute and credibility, regardless of one’s moralor ethical grounds. Therefore, the PAP secures power throughelections according to formal laws and procedures, ensures itsability to return to power by controlling political discourse withrestrictions passed in accordance to law, and proves itself worthy ofpower by using law to manufacture a stable society, perceived asconducive to economic growth. Hence, gay activists do not proteston the streets without permits (which they believe would bedenied). Becoming outlaws delegitimizes one’s cause, a familiarsight among the PAP’s political opponents. On the other level, thenorm relates to the state’s concern with Singapore’s internationalimage as a nation of rule of law with some extent of liberties. It alsodoes not want to be lumped with the extremes of North Korea, asit sees a need to be regarded as legitimate by Western democracieswith which Singapore builds economic ties.

However, the norm of international legitimacy has limitedinfluence. Ultimately, the four norms—non-confrontation, socialstability linked to economic progress, preservation of the rulingparty’s power, and legal legitimacy—point to the imperative ofprotecting existing arrangements of power. When internationallegitimacy interferes with this imperative, the state and PAP make achoice that usually favors the latter. Party and state are unabashedabout defending themselves against allegations of rights violations,and frequently publish rebuttals to international human rightsreports. The retention of Section 377A of the Penal Code is aquintessential example. PAP leaders are actually sympathetic aboutits injustice, and recognize that its retention compromises Sin-gapore’s international legitimacy. Yet, they retain the law, out of aperception that repeal may create discord and jeopardize itsmonopoly, and instead compromise with a non-enforcement policy.

Dancing Through the Years

Over two decades, by strategically dancing to pragmatic resis-tance, Singapore’s gay movement has expanded in size and diver-sified in organizational types and activities (see Appendix), andactivists have grown in confidence, coming out into the open as amovement. Yet, no matter the extent of strategic adaptation, thetactics retain the core characteristics of pragmatic resistance—heeding survival, lack of direct confrontation, and avoidance ofbeing seen as a threat to existing powers.

Timorous BeginningsThe first phase of the movement between the late 1980s until

1996 was an unfriendly time to be gay in Singapore. The police

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frequently entrapped gay men at cruising grounds, and raided gayclubs on the pretext of noise violations or overcrowding. Againstthis backdrop, a handful of gay men and lesbians got to know oneanother at “civil society” gatherings, such as a women’s organiza-tion and an HIV/AIDS awareness group, which the state hadallowed in the late 1980s. By December 1992, these men andwomen began to meet in cafes and living rooms to talk aboutconsciousness-raising. The group would later become known asThe Coalition, Singapore’s first gay activist organization.

RascalsOn May 30th, 1993, the police raided Rascals, a gay club,

rounded up patrons who did not carry identification documents,and detained them at the police station overnight before releasingthem the following day without charges. Keenan, a young lawschool graduate at the time, was at the club when the police camein. Although he was not detained—he was carrying his identifica-tion card that night—the incident outraged him. But he did nottake to the streets to express his objection. Instead, he usedmethods that he described as “acceptable in Singapore.” Heresearched the law to discover that the police have no authority todetain a person who did not carry his or her identification docu-ments,7 and wrote a letter with 21 co-signers to the police.

It is particularly disturbing to find Singapore law enforcementofficers behaving rudely towards and verbally threatening citizenswho have not committed any offences. It would also be in the publicinterest to clarify the legal powers of police officers (plainclothes) todemand the production of personal particulars in cases where nooffences have been committed. (Rascals letter, 31 May 1993)

Keenan’s letter focused on the particular incident, and made noreferences to homosexuality or rights. Rather, it leveraged on thestatute that demarcated police powers, and hinted that the policecould lose legitimacy if their illegal behavior became publiclyknown. His approach avoided outright confrontation, and invokedthe norm of legal legitimacy. The following month, an assistantsuperintendent telephoned Keenan to assure him that such harass-ment would cease. Keenan also received a letter that apologized forthe police’s “lack of tact.” Since then, according to informants,interviewees, and my analyses of documentary sources, police raidson gay businesses have indeed subsided.8

7 Unless there is reasonable belief the person was committing some wrongdoing.8 Raids still take place especially when the police suspect the involvement of illegal

drug activities.


First RegistrationThe Rascals incident galvanized Coalition leaders. They began

to hold regular Sunday meetings, and published a newsletter.Other groups spun off from it, including a women’s group.However, they soon noticed undercover police officers at theirmeetings. To make matters worse, they learned that a tabloid wasplanning a sensational expose. With no precedent of gay organiz-ing in Singapore at the time, and only examples of arrests andprosecutions of political dissidents, Coalition leaders settled forwhat seemed to them as the only viable course of action—seeklegitimacy by registering their organization. Unsurprisingly, theywere rejected on grounds of “good order” and “national security,”and were warned of tough legal consequences if they did not cease.Due to fear, in-person gatherings dwindled in numbers.

The Cyber RetreatThe rejection of the Coalition’s registration application in 1997

marked the end of Phase 1, and the start of Phase 2, which lasteduntil the early 2000s. This was the era of cyber retreat, when groupsformed during Phase 1 suspended physical operations, and coin-cidentally discovered the communication possibilities of the Inter-net, which the government had pragmatically decided to regulatemore lightly. These activists quickly learned they could substitutein-person gatherings with e-mailing lists, message boards and web-sites, thus continuing to organize without the threat of crackdown.

Strictly speaking, such activities could be construed as runningafoul of association laws, and consequently be regarded as trespass-ing boundaries. Nevertheless, to this day, the prevailing senseamong activists is that the Internet provides a shield. Here, we finda delicate balance between pushing boundaries and toeing the line,one that is achieved through sustained and persistent interactionwith the state. When the Coalition first started out in the early1990s, government authorities did not quite understand them andtheir motives, and the nascent movement seemed like a shadygroup plotting something subversive. By the late 1990s, however,both sides started to understand each other better. As we see inTrey’s interview below, the government has come to realize that thegay movement and activists do not seek replacements for the PAP.Their claims are specific to improving the conditions for gays inSingapore.

We’re no real threat to the government. We’re not about todepose the government . . . And they know very well that if theyclamp down on us . . . it’d make them look really, really, really badin the eyes of the world. (Interview, Trey, 50s, businessman,Singapore, July 2006)

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Trey also reveals a related theme—that the state’s understandingcomes with an appreciation for the movement. Since their move-ment’s tolerated existence appeals to international legitimacy, it is,in fact, useful to the state. A clampdown on movement organiza-tions simply because of their unregistered status may actually makethe state and ruling party look too unreasonable. The key for gayactivists is to balance off the non-legal status with other tactics thatdo not violate the law, some of which are considered in this article’sanalysis.

Therefore, even though it was a period of retreat, the cyber erastarted to generate an unprecedented assurance of survival. Fueledby the newfound safety and opportunities of the Internet, newgroups arose to fill the void of older ones that lost steam whenpeople moved away or found new interests. During this era, diverseand specialized groups focusing on more specific interests, such asfor women or religion, and social and recreational activities, startedto appear.

The TransitionWith stronger self-assurance and numbers, the next phase of

the movement in the first half of the 2000s provoked mixed mes-sages from the state, and trials and errors on the movement’s part.As gay activists reattempted in-person gatherings, and some groupsbegan to reoccupy physical spaces, the state again had to grapplewith gay mobilization in the real world. After a decade of dancingtogether, both sides were trying to work out the new boundaries.

The first thing activists noticed was that the state did little toshut down their Internet operations, despite their expansions.

[We] have been operating for so long, we have been very awarethat the government keeps track of all our emails, and placeswe’ve been to . . . a big, big file [gestures], and they haven’t madea move. (Interview, Vincent, 40s, information technology profes-sional, Singapore, May 2009)

Throughout the study are views that echo Vincent’s. Emergingfrom sustained interaction, such an understanding of the statemirrors the state’s understanding of the movement as a non-threatto the PAP’s monopoly. It is not because gay activists believe statesurveillance has ceased—quite the contrary to this day—but it isbecause nothing has happened in spite of ongoing surveillance.Their confidence bolstered, the Coalition activists began to engagethe local media, which they shunned 10 years ago, and built up amedia relationship that now has local reporters contacting them forquotes.


Second RegistrationWith a budding relationship with the media, coupled with

statements from PAP leaders that indicated a shift toward accep-tance of gays and assurances of non-harassment, the future seemeda little brighter. The Coalition decided to attempt a second regis-tration. Unlike the first round, however, the goal was not to achieveregistration. Rather, it was to test the new boundaries, and exposethe oppression if the new limits proved to be illusory. Once again,the application was denied. But this time the Coalition did notretreat into cyberspace. It issued a press release, and one of theirmembers wrote a column in a local newspaper.

This public manner of exposing state oppression may be inter-preted as too confrontational. However, the Coalition tactfully toedthe line as well, a balance reflected in this statement:

[T]he present decision by the [Registrar of Societies] is completelyat variance with . . . the admission by the Prime Minister that“some people are born that way” and “they are like you and me”.(Media release, The Coalition, 05 April 2004)

Like their other public statements, it focuses on the bureaucracy,does not challenge the issue of constitutional rights, and does nottarget state leaders. They gave face to the top echelons of PAP, thusmaintaining the semblance of non-confrontation and preservationof PAP’s monopoly, and in fact, critiqued the bureaucrats for failingto live up to their leaders’ enlightened vision.

Meanwhile, during this transitory period, other men andwomen formed more groups for a variety of purposes. Three ofthem even came to occupy permanent spaces, adding a brick-and-mortar feel to the movement: Resource Central, the first and onlylocal gay community library, the Open Church, Singapore’s firstopenly gay-inclusive church, and the Beacon, a counseling andsupport group.

The Circuit PartiesIn 2001, another group began throwing Singapore’s first

commercial circuit parties targeted at a gay male clientele. By 2004,these parties had attracted international media coverage so muchso that suddenly Singapore looked like Asia’s gay capital. Themedia exposure, however, coincided with the health ministry’srelease of new HIV/AIDS statistics, which highlighted the risingnumber of cases among gay men.9 After issuing party licenses for

9 Although gay men are considered to be in a statistically high-risk group, HIV/AIDSsince detected in Singapore in 1985 has not been regarded as a moral disease but a publichealth issue.

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four years, the police rejected the group’s application in December2004. The true reason behind the state’s reversal may never beknown. What is important, though, is that this sequence of eventsbrings out the trial-and-error nature of this era. The new bound-aries still seemed uncertain, and were retracted when the stateperceived that they had expanded too much.

The Coming OutJust as the future of circuit parties looked dim, the administra-

tion enacted an order without much fanfare. The order exemptedindoor public talks from licensing, provided that the speakers wereSingaporeans, and the talks stayed away from topics that “wouldcause racial enmity” or about religion.10 Together, the relaxed rulesand the party bans inspired the Coalition to organize a pride monthof events, such as exhibitions and talks, to bring attention to gayactivism and the gay condition, and to make use of the new rules totest the limits of speaking out.

IndigNationThus IndigNation was born, marking the onset of a new phase,

the coming out of the movement itself. It brought the gay commu-nity together, as a diverse range of groups in interest and genderparticipated in the annual event. Activists had tried in the past toorganize talks, but it was only from 2005 onward that such eventsgrew in prominence as a movement tactic. The new rules onexemption certainly help. However, licenses are still required oftalks featuring non-Singaporean speakers. When such licenses aredenied, gay activists get around the ban, and make use of theexemption by turning the talk into one featuring a Singaporeanspeaker. Damien describes a typical scenario:

I selected certain excerpts from [the original speaker’s] book, andI read these excerpts out, ‘cause I’m Singaporean, and I’mreading a book, so that’s okay, and it’s enclosed space (indoor) . . .[The original speaker] was there . . . And then we discussed itafterwards. (Interview, Damien, 30s, family counselor, Singapore,July 2009)

The redesignated speaker, a Singaporean such as Damien, firstexplains to the audience that he or she is standing in, because theorganizers were denied a license for the non-citizen. Being Sin-gaporean, Damien takes advantage of the exemption for citizensand obeys the license prohibition against the foreign speaker at thesame time. In doing so, he circumvents the prohibition. After

10 Now governed under Public Order Act.


reading the prepared speech, he then opens up the session toquestion-and-answer, signaling the end of the “talk,” so that theoriginal, non-citizen speaker sitting in the audience goes on tointeract with other attendees.

Another popular option is to hold an event as private, taking itoutside the licensing regime for public talks. Here is an excerptfrom a typical announcement:

RSVP: This event is by invitation only.As there are LIMITED seats, prior registration is required.To get an invitation—please email [—] with your name (in full),contact number, the name/s of your guests. (Event #18, ResourceCentral)

As we can see, interested attendees need to request for an invita-tion. Upon receiving the invitation, they write in to register for theevent. Further, the organizers are generous with invitations.Announcements such as the one above are forwarded to mailinglists, and cross-posted on organizations’ websites. Hence, they getaround the rules on public talks, avoid violations, and still manageto hold the event.

Repeal 377AIndigNation and other events, however, would be only pre-

ludes to two of the most public milestones, Repeal 377A and PinkDot. In November 2006, the government announced a compre-hensive review of the Penal Code, and solicited public feedback onits proposal. It turned out that Section 377 would be removed, butSection 377A would be retained. Because Section 377 criminalized“carnal intercourse against the order of nature” regardless of thesexes involved in the acts, its removal and Section 377A’s retentionmeant the singling out of same-sex sexual conduct between men.

In response to the government’s call for feedback on the PenalCode review, gay activists sent in their submissions to urge therepeal of Section 377A. But after the government announced thatit would nevertheless retain the provision, Parker and Morrisdecided to take their objection further with a Parliamentary peti-tion. Calling for repeal, the petition amassed 2519 signatures in lessthan two months. It was the first time in post-independence Sin-gapore that a Parliamentary petition was submitted with popularsupport.

It was also one of the rare moments in which gay activistspublicly called for legal reform. On the surface, the campaign mayseem confrontational. However, it was tempered by a combinationof tactical moves. Repeal 377A activists made use of legal proce-dures to file the petition, and did not demonstrate on the streets.

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They also sent the signal that Section 377A did not polarize society.They recruited Ai-Mee, a married, straight-identified woman witha gay brother. Ai-Mee became one of the leading petitioners, andone of the campaign’s spokespeople who made media statements toportray the issue as having broad impact on Singaporean society.In addition, even though the campaign justified repealing Section377A on the basis of rights, they moderated the arguments bylinking repeal to the acceptance of diversity as the cornerstone ofsocial stability.

In the end, even though Section 377A was retained, campaignleaders appreciated its success. They had raised awareness aboutthe injustice of Section 377A, and occupied government attention.Most significant of all, they elicited a clear articulation of Section377A’s non-enforcement policy for consensual, private situations,crystallizing a policy that would impact the movement’s future.

The Counter MovementRepeal 377A also involved the first public clash between the

movement and its opposition made up of fundamental Christians.In the past, fundamental Christian churches were known tocondemn homosexuality within their congregations, and run“therapy” programs aimed at gay men. As the gay movementemerged openly in the mid-2000s, so did the counter movement.By the time of Repeal 377A, this opposition launched a ferociouscampaign against an alleged “homosexual agenda.”

When dealing with the counter movement, gay activists alsodeploy pragmatic resistance by sending messages to the govern-ment and public with a particular tone reflected in the statementbelow:

[We believe] that it is unconscionable and a grave mistake to allowintolerance and discrimination to sidetrack and derail our visionof a Singapore that embraces ALL Singaporeans regardless ofcreed. In fact, it has been a very vocal minority of fundamentalistChristians and conservative Christian-linked groups . . . that havesucceeded in swaying our secular government to their moralistbeliefs. (Media statement, the Portal, 08 December 2004)

The statement captures the tricky balance struck. Attacking theChristian right too aggressively can come across to the state assowing social discord among religious faiths. On the other hand,the norm of preserving social stability also entails the state’s para-mount need to maintain secularism in a multi-religious society.11 So

11 The majority of Singaporeans identify as Buddhists/Taoists. Christianity, Islam andHinduism are the most common minority religions.


what movement organizations do, using such statements, is toborrow the state’s hand to counter the opposition—by framing thereligious right as a threat to social harmony, and their movement asone that embraces it.

After Repeal 377A, two developments, thus, became apparent.The government signaled that it would not repeal Section 377Aunless it perceived mainstream values to have shifted in favor ofdoing so, and the counter movement came out clearly andstrongly. To address these developments, part of the movementhas since shifted more noticeably toward larger scale efforts atgarnering support from Singaporean society at large. They are todemonstrate that support for the gay community is broad-based,contrary to the state’s perception, and the counter movement’sportrayal. Among these efforts, the most representative is PinkDot.

Pink DotSince the year 2000, as part of the state’s effort to contain

dissent, public speaking at Hong Lim Park’s “Speakers’ Corner”has been exempted from license application. In September 2008,the legislature extended the exemption from public speaking tocover “performances” and “exhibitions.” The news caught Nelson’sattention: why not hold a gay pride parade at the park? Afterrounds of debates, Pink Dot was born. Unlike the pride paradesfamiliar to San Francisco, London, and Sydney, nevertheless, PinkDot did not march down public streets but confined itself to theexempted park. People wearing shades of pink gathered to picnic,enjoy musical performances, and form a “pink dot” in the center ofthe park.12 From a hotel with a vantage point, photographers cap-tured the formation on film, and organizers circulated the videosand photos online. In 2009, about 2,500 gay and straight peopleparticipated. In 2010, 2011 and 2012, it was reprised with anestimated crowd of 4000, 10 000, and 15 000 respectively.

Pink Dot’s men and women play to, and earn the event culturallegitimacy by intentionally confining it to the exempted park, andfollowing legal conditions. By obeying the law, they make use of itto push the boundaries of the norm against confrontation. BeforePink Dot, an affirmative, public gathering of gay people was per-ceived to be transgressive. Pink Dot organizers, as Winston pointsout, recognize the tokenism of Hong Lim Park, but they creativelyuse it to nudge the boundaries outward.

12 Foreigners did not join in the formation, because the organizers interpreted thatparticular activity as participation in a performance. As a permanent resident, I wasqualified to participate, and did so in 2009, 2010, and 2011.

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[Hong Lim Park’s] about restricting the space available for freespeech to this tiny corner. So in conceptualizing Pink Dot, wewanted to reverse all that. We wanted to do something that was ina way visually stunning, so that it breaks out of the confines of thatspace, something that’s memorable, something that’s in a wayiconic. (Interview, Winston, 30s, public school administrator,Singapore, June 2009)

Meanwhile, they play to the norm of social stability to deflect nega-tive reactions from the state and the counter movement. Neitherportraying Pink Dot as a demonstration, nor using it as a platformto demand for rights, they toe the line by minimizing perceptionsof outright confrontation. Further, they carefully craft a publicitycampaign to convey the message that acceptance of diverse sexu-alities strengthens rather than polarizes society, and to avoidpotential accusations by opponents that they impose Westernvalues. For example, they circulated promotional videos on theInternet featuring local celebrities who identify as straight. Theyalso crucially reinterpreted the meaning of the color pink. Insteadof making the color’s symbolic connection to discrimination or gaypride, they link it to a localized notion of diversity through the ideaof pink as the product of mixing Singapore’s national flag colorsof red and white. They then point out that the color—the result ofaccepting diversity—is already part of what it means to beSingaporean, as it is also the color of identity cards issued onlyto citizens.

International (Non-)alliancesSuch mediation by Pink Dot activists of symbols originating

from outside is the most common way in which the Singaporeanmovement taps onto the influence of transnational activism andhuman rights discourse. These activists are influenced by anddeploy the ideals of rights, and imagery of the urbanized,Western gay identity, such as the rainbow and the color pink(Altman 2001); they draw from such inspiration and spirit to fueltheir movement, but avoid their concrete forms to ensure self-preservation. Moreover, some of them perceive the transnationalactivist as lacking appreciation for the local context, and dis-missive of their agency. Coming across as telling ignorant andoppressed locals what to do, the transnational activist is seen aspotentially creating problems by not dancing properly to prag-matic resistance.

Thus, it is a deliberate tactic that the movement chooses not toaffiliate openly with transnational movements or human rightsorganizations. Their international connections are informal, basedon sporadic communication and personal friendships. Activistsavoid being seen as claimants on the international stage (Bob


2009), and being seen as though their movement has foreigninfluence.13 The choice is borne out of their interpretation of his-torical events in Singapore, when the government used to accusedissident groups of having foreign connections or receivingforeign funds, and thus suppressed them for being nationalsecurity threats.

Occasionally, when some gay activists do attempt external pres-sure, they act subtly and indirectly to avoid outright confrontation.For instance, they build relationships with foreign correspondentsand diplomats, and keep them informed about their movementand concerns. Then they wait for these journalists and diplomats toask questions about Section 377A of the Penal Code or other unjustconditions, if the appropriate moment arises when they interviewor socialize with Singaporean politicians or officials. Key statementsmade by Singapore’s leaders signaling a shift away from condem-nation toward a less biased, more balanced approach toward gays,in fact, were won from questions asked in the international media.As a tactic that also plays to international legitimacy, cynics mayquestion the sincerity of the responses. Nevertheless, gay activistshave been able to leverage on such statements—sincere orotherwise—as the state’s true position, and hold leaders account-able to it. True to the spirit of pragmatic resistance, once they finda new sliver of territory, they hold onto it, and keep pushingforward, little by little.

******

Five years after the Prime Minister articulated Section 377A’snon-enforcement policy, the Penal Code provision reoccupiedthe movement’s attention. In 2010, a man named Tan Eng Hongwas arrested for having consensual sex in a public restroomwith another man. Contrary to the non-enforcement policy, he wasinitially investigated and charged under Section 377A. Activistsspoke out publicly, leveraging on the Prime Minister’s words. Laterthe prosecution downgraded the charge to a different penal provi-sion, though it did not explain whether activists or the policy itselfplayed a role (the prosecution enjoys constitutionally protecteddiscretion, so holding it accountable to the policy may be an uphilllegal battle). By then, Tan’s attorney had initiated a constitutionalchallenge on Section 377A, but because Tan had pleaded guilty tothe lesser charge, the lower courts struck out the challenge onprocedural grounds (Tan Eng Hong v. Attorney-General 2011). The

13 Some local activists are non-citizens, but they are people who live and work inSingapore.

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case was appealed to the Court of Appeal, Singapore’s final court ofresort, where judgment is pending.14

Recall that following Repeal 377A and subsequent governmentstatements, a minority of activists perceive that perhaps the stateand the ruling party would prefer the status of Section 377A to bedetermined by the courts, interpreting a political liability for theruling party to resolve it via the legislative route. In other words,although gay activists still generally regard rights litigation as con-frontational, a minority think that the boundaries have perhapsshifted for the particular issue of Section 377A’s constitutionality—that the state and ruling party perhaps would not regard such amove as overtly confrontational. Thus, litigation on this issuewould still keep to pragmatic resistance. Tan’s case, therefore, istesting such minority views. It is a development that builds on themovement’s cumulative gains over the past 20 years. By strategi-cally adapting with pragmatic resistance, the movement hascome out, and activists have grown increasingly confident. Somemounted Repeal 377A, which led to the articulation of non-enforcement. Even if Tan’s case ultimately fails, it has pushed theboundaries demarcating non-confrontation outward, impercepti-bly modifying what amounts to acceptable modes of challengingthe state in Singapore.

Conclusion

My study on the gay movement in Singapore delves into thesocial processes of how mobilization occurs in a society where thestate has used legal restrictions to curtail civil-political liberties,and rights in themselves lack cultural resonance. It shifts theattention of law and society, and social movement studies awayfrom overt and public forms of collective mobilization in Westernliberal democracies, and onto alternative forms of strategies andtactics. In more repressive societies, open and directly confronta-tional forms of challenges are riskier, and collective action thusmay develop more covertly. Such is the case with Singapore’s gaymovement. Strategically adapting to their socio-political condi-tions, gay activists mobilize with pragmatic resistance. Engaged inan interplay with legal restrictions and cultural norms, they heedsurvival by toeing the line, while advancing the movement by

14 As this article was going to press, Singapore’s Court of Appeal delivered judgmenton the case, ruling that a gay citizen has legal standing to challenge Section 377A for beingin violation of the equal protection clause in Singapore’s Constitution (Tan Eng Hong v.Attorney-General 2012). This development may well encourage a substantive case that con-tests the provision’s constitutional validity in the near future.


pushing boundaries of cultural norms to resist both the laws thatregulate sexualities, and the legal restrictions and norms thatcontrol mobilization.

These social processes highlight the state’s dominant influenceon collective action in repressive societies, and the ingredients oflaw and cultural norms that shape its long shadow. Specifically forgay organizing, mobilization obstacles may lie not with purelymoral concerns. Ultimately, the Singaporean case shows that theyare linked to the state and ruling powers’ prerogatives of maintain-ing the current arrangement of political power. Thus, transnationalgay activism and human rights discourse are mediated through thesocial processes of pragmatic resistance, such that their impact aremitigated and indirect.

Further, by detailing the social processes of pragmatic resis-tance, this study elaborates on where and how law matters tocollective action in a repressive society, going beyond the insightsthat rights are instrumental, symbolic and strategic resources formovements. As formal restrictions, law criminalizes same-sexsexual conduct between men, and stifles expression about homo-sexuality. It also curtails civil-political liberties; regulation, orchanneling (Earl 2006), replaces physical violence to controlprotest and dissent. Culturally, law confers legitimacy to actionsand people who obey it, and delegitimizes trespassers. The stateand ruling party themselves also leverage on legal abidance inter-nationally to defend their legitimacy and Singapore as a “rule oflaw” society.

Consequently, law matters in multiple ways to the movement.On the outset, law matters as a source of oppression. Legal restric-tions control sexual conduct and freedom, and civil-political liber-ties that facilitate dissent and mobilization. Unlike physicalviolence, its control is subtler, taking the form of discipline (Fou-cault 1977) and channeling (Earl 2006). The laws and regulationslimiting the where, when and how of mobilization become part ofthe landscape that activists negotiate, rather than part of the issuesthey challenge (Fernandez 2009), and thus they become moreeasily accepted as legitimate and normal. Further, law in its culturalincarnation of legitimacy exerts oppression by deterring transgres-sion of such legal restrictions, as it culturally delegitimizes trans-gressive acts.

Nonetheless, law also offers hope as a source of contestation.Besides contesting the laws that oppress their sexualities, gay activ-ists also contend with legal restrictions that limit their civil-politicalliberties to contest the former. The contestation occurs via prag-matic resistance, through law and at law. Activists make use of therestrictions, or circumvent them, to create tactics that enable themto speak out and assemble publicly within the restrictive confines,

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and without violating cultural norms. Because they do not committransgressions, they maintain cultural legitimacy. At other times,they mitigate the force of legal repression by playing to culturalnorms. Repressive law, by being contested, is subverted into aresource.

Yet, law further matters as a trade-off between promising andimpairing social change. On one hand, pragmatic resistanceachieves progress for the movement while ensuring its survival.Over the course of 20 years, social change has occurred without anyalteration to formal laws affecting same-sex sexual conduct orexpression. The movement has grown in size and visibility, andexpanded the political, discursive and cultural spaces for gays inSingapore. Because of Repeal 377A, debates over decriminalizationentered Parliamentary records, and appeared extensively in localmedia. Pink Dot assembled thousands at a public landmark thatstands for tokenism in a country where speech is licensed andcontrolled. A gay community library opens its doors everyweekend, social events are held year-round, and an openly gaycounseling center occupies the second floor of a shophouse inChinatown.

On the other hand, pragmatic resistance entails accepting theprice of reification and reinforcement of existing arrangements ofpower. Despite these gains, the strategy challenges power only inparticular and restricted ways. The boundaries of cultural normsare pushed only to an extent without risking confrontation, orjeopardizing the ruling party’s perception of control. Adherence tothe licensing regime leaves restrictions on free speech unchal-lenged. The tolerated existence of non-registered, non-legal move-ment organizations is also a precarious one. Despite treadingbetween boundary pushing and keeping, they face the possibility,however slight, of the state’s invocation of formal legal sanctions.The incentive for gay activists may be to continue with the strategythat has served them well and safely.

Hence, the dance of pragmatic resistance risks losing creativityto routinization. As time goes by, the stakes mount for breakingthat routine, because the state correspondingly expects their resis-tance in this routinized form. It does not mean the state is nolonger controlling. It only appears less so, for the repression isroutinized (Scott 1985), and therefore, even less questioned. Theroutinization of strategy and repression culminates into regulatingthe movement’s actions according to the accepted and expectednorms (Habermas 1984). Dancing out of character, and disruptingthe routine and state expectations may attract extraordinaryrepression.

Gay activists, thus, fight the battle for gay equality in Singapore,but do not take on the war for greater democracy and civil-political


rights. In the end, pragmatic resistance preserves and repeatedlyvalidates the boundaries of cultural norms. One may find ananalogy with movements in Western liberal democracies, whererights-based tactics are the norm, and result in reaffirming existinginstitutions (Cohen 1985). So, are these activists co-opted? Perhapsthey are, one may argue. They clearly recognize a line between thelegal and illegal; by adhering strategically to such a difference, theybuy into the dichotomy, reaffirm the centrality of the state (andruling party), and participate along with this existing order in thedialectic construction of the dichotomy. In spite of being resisted,law as legal restrictions and as cultural legitimacy is refortifiedand remains as a source of power continually wielded to controlcivil-political liberties, and the gay movement. However, the samecan also be said of romanticism with illegality or non-conformityto formal institutions generally. Deliberately illegal—or non-conformist—tactics also imply an acceptance of such a dichotomy,and hence a particular socio-political order (Lukács 1920). Legalobedience and defiance both promise and imperil the prospects ofsocial change. Perhaps then, the way forward and out of this conun-drum is to “slough off both the cretinism of legality and the roman-ticism of illegality” by regarding the conformist/non-conformistnature of movement strategy and tactics as simply that—purelytactical (Lukács 1920).

Perhaps then, law ultimately matters to the movement as apragmatic concern, and not an ideological dilemma. Singapore’sgay activists certainly are conscious of the workings of power. Theystrategically adapt to their socio-political conditions to adopt prag-matic resistance. When pushing boundaries, they appreciate therisks, and when toeing the line, they recognize when pushing canbecome crossing the line. But to them, their concern lies not withwhether their strategy challenges the larger order of power—bytransgressing its legal rules—for the sake of doing so. They makechoices, not between subordination to and liberation from the exist-ing order, but between tactics based on what they believe can bestadvance the movement, and keep it alive. To them, therefore, law isa matter of survival. Legality is tactical, a pragmatic means to anend. Seen in this light, they are perhaps ironically de-centering thepower of law.

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Appendix

Expansion of movement in organization and campaign typesand numbers

Phase 1 Phase 2 Phase 3 Phase 4Pre-1997 1997–2000 2000–2005 2005-presentTimorousbeginnings Cyber retreat Transition The coming out

Social andsupportservices

The CoalitionArgotThe Harbor

The HubSports ClubSutra FellowshipSingapore Lesbians OnlineThe Beacon

Christian FellowshipThe PortalMuslim FellowshipOpen ChurchWomen’s World

Virtual SisterResource Central

Queer Women’s AllianceChalkboard CaucusThe BrotherhoodBiz TribeVoicesYouth SupportYouth PlanetYouth Society

Raise socialawareness

The PortalFamily & FriendsGay-straight AllianceRepeal 377APink Dot

Mediaadvocacy

The Coalition

State advocacy The CoalitionRepeal 377A

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Lynette J. Chua is assistant professor of law at the National University ofSingapore. She is an interdisciplinary scholar with research interests in lawand social change, and law and social movements.


Pragmatic Resistance, Law, and Social Movements in Authoritarian States: The Case of Gay Collective Action in Singapore

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